Fortune hunter slowed by paper chase

I worked eight years at a newspaper that now says it never heard of me.

True story, and I'm still stuck in the middle of it. Before moving to Houston, I worked at the newspaper in Phoenix. It was my first big city job. A few months ago, I heard that my old editor was retiring, so I called to congratulate him.

During our conversation, he mentioned that between Social Security, his 401(k) and pension payout, he will be making more in retirement than when he was working.

"Hold on," I stopped him, "pension payout?"

"We had a pension plan?"

Like Paul McCartney, I don't care too much for money. Or at least I didn't when I worked in Phoenix. All I cared about was making rent, putting something in the bank and getting my life rolling.

"Yeah, we had a pension plan," my former boss said. "I'm sure you were in it. You had to be in it."

I called the newspaper's human resources department. I said, "My name is Ken Hoffman. I'm told there was a pension program when I worked there. Can you tell me if I was part of that?"

I may have some found loot socked away.

The HR person put me on hold. A few minutes later, "I'm sorry, we have no record of your employment here."

Seriously? I started in Phoenix as a features writer and made my way up to television-radio columnist. I thought I did pretty well - my time there got me here. You'd think a newspaper could "look it up."

The HR person told me to contact the Social Security Administration office in Baltimore and get a statement of earnings for the years I claim to have worked in Phoenix. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. You don't remember me? I'm the guy who broke the story about the TV weatherman moving from Channel 10 to Channel 12. And the deejay who left Phoenix for a morning show in Chicago. That was powerhouse investigative reporting!

It costs $115 to get an itemized yearly statement of earnings, which the paper promised to reimburse me for if the records proved I worked there.

True story, maybe. My mother's maiden name was "Linkin." I once asked her, how did that spelling happen? She said when her father came over on a boat from Russia, he went through Ellis Island like all immigrants of that era. The immigration agents couldn't spell those long, tongue-twisting Russian last names, so they went around the portraits of U.S. Presidents on the wall. "You're Washington, you're Adams, you're Jefferson," etc.

When it was my mother's father's turn, the officer looked at Honest Abe's portrait and wrote down "Linkin." Let's just say he wasn't presidential historian Douglas Brinkley of Rice University … or a spelling bee champ.

Back to me. Two weeks ago, Social Security mailed me the earnings statement to forward to Phoenix. Of course I worked there. You'd think I'd be in the clear now, right?

Nope, first the paper needed a "proof of purchase" (I swear, those are the words they used) from the Social Security Administration so they could reimburse my $115.

Proof of purchase? What am I, sending away to Battle Creek, Mich. for a "Star Trek" decoder ring? There was no receipt or bar code on the Social Security statement. I told the paper, "Look, you got the statement, you know how much it cost, that's your proof of purchase."

Not good enough. Now I'm calling the Social Security Administration for a receipt that proves I wrote, therefore I was, for the paper in Phoenix.